Mrs. Morrison. “Oh, let them stay, Miss—Persimmons.”
Teacher. “Fitzsimmons.”
Mrs. Morrison. “Oh, yes, of course, Fitzsimmons. Let them all come in; there’s plenty here for all of us and them, too.”
May. “Oh, yes, do. It’ll be a perfect circus.”
(Charley throws wide the door.) “Come in, come in, friends, and help us eat up your lunches.”
(The children, after much whispering and “you go first,” troop in bashfully, giggling and nudging one another, and the eating commences, Mrs. Morrison presiding over the distribution of the lunches.)
Charley (munching a sandwich). “My, but this chicken sandwich is prime. Who brought it, anyway?”
Dennis (shyly). “I did.”
Charley. “Your own chickens?”
Dennis. “Yes, sir.”